


Is Different

by realfakedoors



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Implied Relationships, Mostly Fluff, Mostly Marco, Suggestive Themes, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-10 06:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12906213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realfakedoors/pseuds/realfakedoors
Summary: Marco has a difficult time celebrating an important day for Star. He is a nervous mess and keeps making it worse.Marked teen for barely suggestive themes.





	1. West Mewnian Swamp Water

Staring at a tray of strange Mewnian delicacies, Marco Diaz was trying to ignore what was going on around him.

It wasn’t going very well.

In defense of the high school senior, he has developed a rather poor rapsheet when it came to this sort of thing. It had different names depending on the dimension or occasion, but they were the same thing each time. Lots of people and pageantry, formal attire and expectations, dates, dancing.

If it was a formal function that involved any combination of these, Marco had already resigned to the fact that it was bound to go wrong.

And typically, it was going to be or had been his own fault.

Before high school, he hadn’t been to any dances that required an invitation or a date. A cousin’s quinceañera or relative’s wedding might have had people moving and grooving, so-to-speak, but those were family affairs.

Since then, it’s basically been downhill.

He unceremoniously crashed the Blood Moon Ball, a night that has hung over him for the past four years. Star had been disappointed in his behavior that night, and in retrospect, he was, too. It wasn’t fair to her, to presume that she needed him there to look out for her… but, a tiny arrhythmic thumping in his chest also admitted some twisted pride in the matter.

Marco may have disappointed Star, but if he could go back, he would do it all over again.

What he had done may not have been right, but if Star had taught him anything, wasn’t it that sometimes you have to mess up a little to get it right the next time? Or, maybe it was something about bad decisions are eclipsed by good intentions?

Or, maybe he was just making excuses. Either way, that night had meant something to him, even if it was never supposed to happen.

This line of thought was starting to make Marco feel even worse, so he moved down the list.

His first real “school dance” had been quickly ditched, with Jackie Lynn Thomas, no less. It wasn’t a bad memory either, but the night ended with Star nearly being pulled to her death through a portal into the void. It had been the day they lost Glossaryck, and the rest of the year basically fell apart thereafter. Lots of misunderstandings and missed chances.

Marco felt the Monster-Mewman petition celebration extravaganza was probably the worst of them all. At least before, he hadn’t realized how he felt about Star; that had been the first time he had to purposely keep his distance so she could manage the party (and so she could manage Tom). She had looked so beautiful that night, her powdery blue dress and hair in elegant curls… In fact, it reminded him of the dress she had chosen for the Song Day Celebration. Was it the same?

Whatever dress or however her hair, she looked amazing, and it only made it harder as the night fell apart.

Heinous came for him that night. He was, and had always been, the target - not Star. And it wasn’t his fault that Mina essentially ruined _everything_ , but it had been him that brought Meteora back to the temple in the first place. So the dominos fell, leaving them battered and bruised with little to show for it.

Things are different now, and they should be better.

 _They are better. Stop being such a downer_.

Marco chided himself with a sigh, finally taking one of the ‘savquals’ (which looked to him like a cross between a taquito and sashimi) onto his appetizer plate and took to moving around the outskirts of the ballroom.

Thinking about dances wasn’t helping, and watching the dance wasn’t going to help either. His Earth friends were invited here along with his parents, but he had lost them in the massive hall almost as soon as he came in.

He had already tried his cell phone, which Star had modified to work on Mewni, but Janna had snatched it at some point and so he was upstream without a paddle, as they say.

He was without a paddle, but at least he had this savqual, so it wasn’t all bad. Right?

A familiar voice made him jump before he could try the strange food that had been his only company all night.

King River addressed the crowd on a dais at the far end of the room.

“Thank you everyone, thank you for joining us! What a wonderful opening dance. Just wonderful! This is one of the Kingdom’s most cherished traditions, second only to the passage of the wand on the fourteenth birthday of the Princess of Mewni. Hopefully, tonight’s celebration will result in less destruction and despair!”

Several nobles laughed at the King’s joke at Star’s expense, and Marco snickered lightly in his private corner. He could imagine the chagrin on her face, wherever she was in the grand room, and it made him laugh a little louder.

“Just a little joke, my dear,” River cooed in the direction of his wife. It was hard to tell from where Marco was standing, but she appeared to be debating with herself which sort of weapon would be most appropriate to lash him with if he continued with his revelery.

Clearing his throat, the King continued. “The celebration of our daughter’s eighteenth birthday is a gift in itself, and we are blessed to share it with you all. It is by happenstance that it is also the celebration of royalty, the Day of Designation. So, family, friends, allies - enjoy this evening in the n-name of Star Butterfly, our daughter.”

He choked up a bit, beaming in the general direction of the rebel princess. All eyes seemed to follow towards the middle of the dance floor - well, except Marco’s.

An invisible rope separated the bystanders from center of the room, hollowed out to provide a perfect place for the opening dance. Tradition dictated the Princess of Mewni dance with the Princes or Lords of their allied Kingdoms throughout the evening, starting with the Opening Dance.

Marco was neither a prince nor a lord, so he would not be dancing with Star tonight.

Queen Moon stood from her spot on the throne, at least a foot taller than her husband. She was positively glowing, the grandeur of Star’s celebration obviously infecting her with uncharacteristic excitement.

“It is with the utmost pride that I introduce to you all, the future Queen of Mewni, Star the Defiant!”

Clapping and cheering followed, which Marco was glad for at that moment - he had just tried to eat his food and promptly began to choke, hacking loudly by himself.

Doubled over, he felt the air return to his lungs, and the music started to play for the second song.

_The Defiant?_

It was perfect.

More people were dancing now, several pairings of knights and nobles swaying towards the center of the celebration. Marco noticed the Queen dancing with a very old Mewman he did not know, and River had taken to dancing with Tom’s absolutely colossal mother.

The room was shrinking as people started to move more and more to the music. Less of a circle, the atmosphere loosened to a more casual (by royal standards) amorphous blob of couples and regular groups of superficially friendly people dancing and clapping and making merry. The music became progressively louder as more people spread out to celebrate.

Marco, comparatively, was finding it rather difficult to breathe.

“Air. Need some air,” he said to no one in particular, abandoning his plate on the nearest table and squeezing between rhythmic, faceless partygoers.

His reprieve came in the form of a crisp rush of oxygen as he staggered onto a balcony off the main hall, high above the standards of Mewni. It was dark, but the rays of the trio of Mewni’s moonlight kept the kingdom well-lit in a sort of sterile evanescence. It was irrefutably beautiful, if not a bit unsettling; there was something _too_ divine in the image, like Mewni at night was a sacred sepulcher that he had rudely intruded upon.

Then again, maybe he had.

_What am I even doing here?_

His scissors were upstairs, and Marco silently cursed himself for not bringing them with him. A quick ride on Nachos surely would have cleared his head. But, then again, Heckapoo was here for the Day of Designation - she probably would not be pleased if one of her clones reported him sneaking around her dimension unannounced.

Besides, this was the day to celebrate Star. What kind of friend would it make him if he ditched for his own benefit?

Leaning over the bannister, Marco looked down into the streets. Most of the town was celebrating Star’s party, too, although he couldn’t help but notice a few beggars slumped against cold hovels of garbage they had gathered. A few passed around a small collection of corn and told stories, smiles on their faces, but they were not cheering and dancing like everyone else.

“Eh? Karate Boy?”

Marco jumped slightly at the unexpected presence right behind him, though the Russian accent had clearly outed the owner.

Grabbing his chest, Marco half-turned and waved. “Hey, Buff Frog. You just about scared me to death. You know you can call me Marco, right?”

The tall monster came forward with a beaming smile, each one of his carefully filed teeth flashing under the alabaster light. “Uh yes. I know this is name. Yvgeny Bulgoyaboff my name, but still call Buff Frog. Friends have nickname.”

That made Marco grin a little, turning back to look over the balcony. Buff Frog moved beside him and joined him in his Mewman-watching.

Marco was glad for the distraction. “What brings you out here?”

“Party not exactly monster thing.” Buff Frog laughed a little, but it was a humorless kind of statement.

Marco didn’t know what to say to that.

They studied the crowds below for a while, chuckling when they saw some of the people get into a scuffle.

“Things sure have changed, haven’t they?” The boy gestured at the fighters, internally critiquing each opening left unguarded.

They chatted idly about the old days for a little while, mostly-friends-but-occasional-enemies for the past four years. It was nice, nonjudgmental, nostalgic.

But only for so long.

“Why _you_ not at party, Karate Boy?” Buff Frog offered, straightening his posture and stretching his arms above his back.

Marco answered honestly. “I’m not really sure. Same reason as you, I guess.”

“Party not human thing?”

“No, they are. They’re just not really a... _me_ thing.”

The monster nodded slowly before speaking again. “Is that why not with Butterfly girl tonight?”

Marco sighed and looked up at the the celestial trio that bathed the town in light, seeking answers beyond this dimension. He figured this was where the conversation would go.

“Not... exactly. Things are a little… _tense_ between us right now.”

“Ah,” Buff Frog responded knowingly. “Lover quarrel. Want talk about it?”

“N-no, it’s not like that.” Marco cleared his throat. Turning around, he leaned against the balustrade and looked into the castle through the open French-style doors. Most people were in the Banquet Hall, so the Main Hall of the castle was mostly empty. A few giggling Mewnian girls walked past them, looking intently at a compact mirror-phone with gossip and mischief written in their sly smiles.

_Some things are the same across dimensions, I guess._

Without really thinking, Marco started to talk. He had been pretty tightly wound the entire day, so the need to clear his head took precedence.

“I mean, Star and I have been together for over two years now. I’m fine. Really. It’s just hard, things are different. So different.”

“Wait, can see where is going,” his monster companion said, searching through a large satchel-like bag that he had brought with him. Setting it on the ground and rummaging for a moment, Marco noted it had a few badges on the front. One of them read _Monster Expert_ , embellished with gold and royal calligraphy. The other was a sort of shoddy rustic one that said _Best Dad_.

“Here. Buff Frog know thing or two about love.”

He offered Marco a drink in a modest thermos-style cup, and at risk of being rude, Marco accepted with a small smile. He didn’t sip from it, but just held it and kind of swirled it around while the monster returned to standing.

“Is different?” Buff Frog prompted when Marco didn’t speak.

His response was met with a sigh. “Yeah. Is different. Star and I will graduate from high school at the end of the next quarter…” Marco looked to his left to see Buff Frog's confused reaction, so he clarified.

“Basically, Star will be returning to Mewni for good in about six months. I won’t be coming with her.”

“Why is problem? Karate Boy has scissor, goes back and forth all time now.”

Marco laughed wryily. “You sound like my Dad. He said the same thing. That’s why I’ve tried to let it go - it _shouldn’t_ be a big deal. I’m starting college - um, a different kind of school. It’ll be more intense - in about a year, and I’ll be really busy. Star will be starting to learn to govern Mewni, and there will be more and more events like _this_. Star is only allowed to dance with those lords and princes - no matter how _Defiant_ she is - because that’s the way things are here. It just… is all catching up to me, I guess. There won’t be anymore adventures. No more trying to avoid detention because of another of Star’s crazy ideas. No more arguing over whose turn it is to walk the laser puppies. No more Friendship Thursdays. No more…”

“Star?” Buff Frog added when Marco hung his head, looking into the liquid courage he had been neglecting.

“I guess.”

Marco didn’t want to admit it, but his chest was starting to ache thinking about this. He had really only talked to his Dad about it, and that hadn’t gone very far because Marco’s father didn’t really _get_ Mewni. Traditions are written in stone here - literal magic tapestries begin to weave for the next Queen from the moment they're born, recording their magical lives for the next generation.

Star has a destiny to rule, to be inspiring and wonderful, to earn and embody her title - _The Defiant -_ for the rest of her life. She had told Marco on more than one occasion that she loved him, and that she wouldn’t let her duty to the crown get in the way of their relationship, but… that was the problem.

Marco looked at Buff Frog who had remained silent, absorbing the human boy’s confession in earnest.

“Do you see that guy, the one with the reddish beard and brown jacket? The one with the patches.” Marco pointed towards the group of beggars, long since returned to their small fire and happy conversation after the fight broke out.

“His name is Bynar Earnfast. He’s lived in the western district of Mewni since he was born, but he walks all the way to the outskirts of the castle to see his friends almost every night. He can’t really work - I guess he was born with some problems with the nerves in his hands. The most he can do is use the palms of his hand to hold things up, but his fingers don’t work.”

Reflexively, Marco switched the glass he was holding to his other hand, taking care to be thankful for every one of his ten working fingers.

“Star met him outside of the castle one night, I think it was something to do with her parents meeting some diplomats at the gates. She told me this story a while ago when she introduced us. But I never forgot his name, or how he preferred to hug instead of shake hands. Star knows even more - his mother’s name, the name of the street he grew up on, his favorite type of Mewnian corn. It’s seared, with a pad of unsalted butter. No spices - it gets in the way of the ‘pure corn flavor.’ That’s what Star said.”

Marco paused to watch Earnfast for a moment, the way he elbowed his buddy Wynhart next to him, a broad smile on the pair’s faces as they shared some joke.

Buff Frog finally weighed in when it seemed like Marco was finished. “Is… very nice story. But... why is about Karate Boy and Star Butterfly relationship?”

“Yeah, I guess I kind of got off track. The point is, Star is going to be the most amazing queen. She really cares about this kingdom - the people, the monsters, and even the nobles… though she would always deny the last part,” he said with a chuckle. Buff Frog joined in and clinked their glasses together at that.

“But, I couldn’t… I can’t stand in the way of this. She wants to make things work ‘long-distance,’ if that’s what you would call living in different dimensions. And believe me, I do too. She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known.”

Marco held his breath for a long moment, closing his eyes to still the welling tears that threatened to spill over.

“She needs to focus on her Kingdom and herself. I can’t monopolize her time. Bynar needs her. The monsters need her,” he gestured towards Buff Frog’s bag, the gold face of the medallion that she had given him proudly sported at the top. She had been the one to initiate the reformation of Mewnian social tensions, which have grown better over the years, but there was still much work to be done. Buff Frog’s presence out here tonight was indicative of that; Marco wouldn’t be surprised if he was the only monster invited.

“The princes and lords who she’s dancing with even need her - they’re supposed to be representations to the people of Mewni’s posterity and the strength of friendships between Kingdoms, blah blah alliances, blah blah betrothals. Even if it’s just for show, the show is important.”

His fingers tightened a little on the chilled glass, and Marco only now realized how icy the air outside had grown.

“And I know what you’re thinking. I’m just being a dumb teenager. Jealous of my girlfriend dancing with other guys. I’m at least self-aware enough to recognize that, but…”

Marco flinched when a massive hand rested on his shoulder. He had fought Buff Frog enough times to know that this was intended as a “gentle” gesture, but it was probably hard enough to bruise.

“Wait, Karate Boy. Don’t say these things. Is not dumb.”

Marco shrugged the hand off his shoulder with some difficulty and looked away, admiring the monochromatic stillness the Mewnian moons cast over this beautiful world. He wished he could just stay in this life forever.

“Karat- er, _Marco_ ,” the monster tried again, clearing his throat at the strangeness of the name.

“Is very honest of you. Thank you for telling. Now is my turn to tell story.”

Marco was justifiably surprised, especially when Buff Frog shoved a photo two inches away from his face. Where did he even get the photo?

“My Buff Toddlers first day of school. You see little Katrina? She could not stand with backpack on, so is set on ground.” He sort of cooed the last part, and Marco had to chuckle. They really were adorable.

The photo was placed into his free hand and Buff Frog continued. “Is not just their first day of school. Is _monsters_ first day school, ever. You know this - Star Butterfly started education initiative for monsters. Buff Toddlers part of first class.”

Marco did know this - it was one of Star’s proudest moments. In fact, he had pictures from this same day on his phone (which, he recalled, was probably being sold to a black magic merchant right now by Janna). He and Star had waited outside of the gates of the first Monster-Mewman School for Buff Frog to drop off the family. There was a photo, one of his favorites, with all of the little ones hugging Star so fiercely that her eyes went crossed - he loved to tease her about that. In the background, there was a big red ribbon that Star had been invited to snip, discarded on the ground to commemorate the occasion. Against his better judgment, Marco had agreed to let Star use his dimensional scissors to perform the act, and an accidental-portal nearly sucked them all into what would surely have been a death trap.

Marco actually still had the ribbon.

Since being named Star’s squire, he had developed a fairly simple organizational system to help keep them both on top of their responsibilities. Each compartment of a large chest of drawers was labeled for a different purpose, if ever there was a need to document some evidence or, in this instance, remember a special occasion. There was perhaps a dozen or mementos of the things Star had accomplished in the _Monster-Mewman Relations_ cabinet, and he had no problem visualizing the exact spot where the ribbon was now stored.

“Is one of proudest moments as father. But is only possible because of you.”

That made Marco laugh abruptly. “You’re kidding, right? That was all Star.”

As Marco looked over, he was a bit shocked to see how serious Buff Frog’s face was. Not even a smile graced the usually spirited monster’s countenance.

“Not joke. I watch you and Butterfly girl almost whole year. Was you who started to tell her monsters treated unfairly. Why you think she no longer celebrate Mewnipendence Day with battle? It you who told her bad idea to start with segregated schools. She went right to joined education. It you who helped get petition signed for improved relation in first place. Star Butterfly is… brilliant and kind person, but is Karate Boy who helps her realize potential.”

That struck him silent. Indeed, there was no trace of mirth in his monster companion’s voice. Marco felt his brain moving a-mile-a-minute as he processed Buff Frog’s counterargument.

After a long sip from his glass, Buff Frog continued before Marco had a chance to respond.

“Think about day Toffee capture you. I remember clear to this day. Star Butterfly destroy wand to save you, but she knew what was doing. You did not see look in eye outside castle. She knew risk, but took anyway. Wand means nothing compared to you.”

Some bile started to rise in Marco’s throat as he remembered, the feeling of hard crystal pressed against his shoulders, his legs, his face, his _everything_ as the air started to become harder to breathe. He had come close to dying a handful of times, but that had been different, because it was coming for him. A mistake in battle was spontaneous and fueled by adrenaline; that had been a slow and contemplative sort of fate, tempting him with freedom and oxygen while his muscles started to feel the crushing pressure of unyielding crystal.

Marco swallowed the lump that had formed, but addressed Buff Frog’s point.

“But that’s exactly why this is messed up. I know… I know Star loves me as much as I love her. But if she is willing to risk everything for me, I feel like I’m a hazard to not just her but to the future of Mewni. _She_ is the future of Mewni, and I’m a flight risk. First Toffee, then Eclipsa… they saw it too, and they probably won’t be the last. If I’m around, Star will constantly be put in the position to choose between her duty and her magic, and, well, me.”

Marco felt it best to omit the fact that he still had no idea how he had ever been so lucky in the first place - what did Star see in him, anyways? But that was a conversation for another night.

The truth hung in the shared silence for a moment, and Marco realized he had started to feel a little light-headed. Maybe he should eat something, even if it was that horrid savqual again. The glass in his hand went to his lips automatically.

“Augh, _augh!_ Buff Frog, what _is_ this?” Marco had taken a deep gulp of whatever he had been handed without thinking about it and nearly wretched all over his suit jacket. He narrowly avoided dropping the cup over the railing, saving some poor Mewman from being showered with the horrible beverage.

“What? Is West Mewnian swamp water, adult drink for special occasions.” Buff Frog raised an eyebrow at him, not necessarily surprised that the teenager could not hold his drink.

“ _Swamp_ water? Buff Frog, I’m _human_. I thought this was like, a soda or something.”

A moment of recognition flashed in Marco’s mind and he gasped.

“Wait, an _adult_ drink? Buff Frog, is this alcoholic?”

His companion looked rather uncomfortable, not meeting Marco’s glare.

“Uhh, if is Earth term for fermented spirit, then yes. I thought is adult now?”

Marco looked horrified, numbly pushing the glass back into Buff Frog’s open hand. He grabbed his forehead and started to pace the length of the small balcony.

“Oh god, I just drank alcohol. I’m underage! My parents will kill me. Star will never let me hear the end of this. Am I going to end up like Janna now? I’m a delinquent. What is wrong with me? Am I inebriated right now? Buff Frog, do my eyes look bloodshot? Watch me, am I walking in a straight line, I - ”

Marco stopped when Buff Frog began to laugh at him. _Really_ laugh. The monster was laughing so hard he had to lean down and set the drinks on the ground or he would have dropped them. The teenager was indignant for a moment, but the volume and hilarity of Buff Frog’s sniggering started to become infectious and Marco became caught up in the moment too.

“I sorry, Karate Boy,” Buff Frog wiped away a tear from his own eye, sighing airily and leaning against the bannister. Their drinks remainder forgotten at their feet, and Marco sheepishly rubbed the back of his head.

“No, it’s okay. It was an accident. Just, wow. This night is definitely not going the way I would have guessed.”

He rejoined Buff Frog at the edge of the castle, looking down into the streets again. They had been out here for awhile, he had to assume, because many of the revelers had started to return to their houses. Not all of them - many still partied and whooped and sang out of tune - but the thoroughfares had begun to thin.

With a refreshed little chuckle, Marco spoke again.

“Thanks, Buff Frog. I mean it. I feel a lot better.”

“Do not be mentioning it. I still owe both Star Butterfly and Karate Boy for much of my happiness.” He gave Marco a toothy smile.

The gesture was returned with a knowing smirk. “And ‘do not be mentioning’ this whole alcohol thing to anyone, please?”

They laughed and Buff Frog recovered their drinks from the ground. He poured the rest of Marco’s swamp water into his own cup, and the two clinked glass again.

“Is fair.”

There was a peaceful silence for a minute or so while the both of them thought of the conversation. Marco had a lot still on his mind, perhaps even more than when Buff Frog had joined him on the balcony, but it didn’t feel as terrifying now that it was out in the open.

Eventually, it was the monster who took the initiative to end their respite outside the castle.

“I think is best we go back. Queen Butterfly will worry that I sold to Ludo if gone too long.”

They both laughed again, and Marco agreed.

“Yeah, I’m actually really hungry. Some food would be nice.”

They moved through the open doors into the castle hall, and Marco found he was surprised by how cold he was. When he closed the doors behind them, the air in Butterfly Castle felt charged with electricity, making his fingers start to tingle as the numbness began to ebb. He thought about Bynar a little sadly, lingering at the doors for a moment longer.

“Karate Boy,” Buff Frog called his attention one more time before returning to the Banquet Hall.

“Just one more thing. You said is choice for her between magic, crown and you. If Star Butterfly love Karate Boy as much as said, enough to risk her wand and crown, then what is Karate Boy willing to risk for Star Butterfly?”

Marco’s response was automatic, his hands balled into fists.

“Everything.”

The monster winked and turned around, walking towards the muted music and revelry behind the doors that lead to the Banquet Hall.

“Then, _is_ different?”

Entering the room, Buff Frog left Marco to himself. There was a loud burst of music as the door opened, followed by a muffled thumping of the bass when it closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! My muse has decided that my SU fics need a break. I saw a tumblr prompt - incidentally, I don't even end up referencing the quoted text - and I just sort of started writing and didn't stop until about 5,000 words later. Let me know your thoughts & if you think I should continue!


	2. The Blue Calico

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco has a squire's night in, passes out from dehydration, deals with more guilt, and breaks the law. Again.

Marco stared blankly at the empty air outside of the Banquet Hall, the sounds of celebration continuing in muted suspension from beyond the door. If anyone saw him, they probably would have thought he was zoning out.

They would be right.

 _“Then,_ **_is_ ** _different?”_

Buff Frog had posed the question before leaving Marco alone in the hallway, and to the monster’s credit, it was a very good question with a very not-so-easy answer.

Like most things, it felt gray. Ambiguous. Yes and no.

He and Star _were_ different - that was a simple matter of fact.

But did that mean things between them had to _be_ different?

They were older. After fumbling with their feelings for a little while, they started to date. They had lost a few battles but won ten times as many. Star had grown from the cute rebel princess that lived down the hall into a fearless Queen-to-be, as magnificent as the title but without any of the inherent arrogance.

If they were different, did that have to be a bad thing?

In some ways, Star was the same. She was silly, kind-hearted, and just the right amount of undignified. At night, her voice was a cherished lullaby; in the day, she outshined the sun, a star far more luminous and awesome than any celestial body could ever be. The world seemed to gravitate around her, and he was just lucky enough to be caught in her atmosphere, to feel her warmth and breathe her air.

But the changes were undeniable, too. Mewni had already begun to wrap itself around her reign, and she hadn’t even ascended to the throne yet. Monster-Mewman relations had only been the beginning, and Star worked tirelessly everyday she was not on Earth to better the Kingdom - education, social stratification, food insecurity, infant mortality. All of it began to improve, little by little, as she chipped away at the system that had given her status in the first place.

Star was his favorite riddle, elusive and flamboyant all at the same time. She never made sense in the most wonderful sort of way. Really, Marco thought, she was _perfect_ , but she had always _been_ perfect.

So did that mean she was the same? Or was his idea of perfection changing with her?

Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Marco tried to slow his thoughts to processing one thing at a time. His head was starting to pound from the mitosis of questions that were metastasizing in his brain - each time he came to a thought, encouraging or frightening, it multiplied into fifty new anxieties and questions that then became a hundred more. A dizzying cacophony of insecurities and assurances and doubts and possibilities and _hopes_ were starting to ache within his skull like the bass of the music beyond the doors.

The doors that separated him from the rest of his life.

_Just... go in there and try to celebrate._

_For Star._

With a deep inhale, Marco focused on the passage of air into his lungs, taking care to observe and appreciate the warmth of the castle; the chill from his earlier conversation had all but vanished. His hands no longer ached with latent numbness, his ears no longer burned with unforgiving exposure.

To be in the right headspace for these sort of things, he had to put on his best smile, stand up straight, and refuse to be bulldozed by the superfluous pomp and gaiety he had grown to expect from most of Mewni’s royal celebrations. That is not to say Marco was ungrateful - quite the opposite, in fact. It was only because he was privileged in his fortune to know the Butterfly family (let alone date their only daughter) that he had attended enough of these to sort of social forums to understand the propriety and respectability expected of him… but that didn’t mean they weren’t a little annoying.

The elaborate displays and constant vying for the King and Queen’s, and especially Star’s, attention by so many disingenuous guests, the helpless loneliness that crept up from the pit in his abdomen when she was whisked away for some affair way above his pay grade, the whispers and stares that trailed behind him at the refreshment table about his relationship - or worse, his _intentions_ \- for Star.

Ugh… just, _one thing at a time._ His stomach seemed to growl at him in annoyance. Marco grimaced, but buried the anxieties in the pit in his stomach.

Through the exhale, Marco thought again of Bynar, and all of the Mewman who weren’t going to sleep in a castle, much less a bed, tonight.

He rolled his shoulders backwards, finally feeling confident enough to enter the ballroom, to face his fears… or, at minimum, to at least find something to eat.

He was not, however, ready to crash right into someone when he opened the door.

“ _Oh,_ oh, man, I’m sorry - sorry.” Marco rubbed the back of his head, having smacked his Hekapoo-bestowed bald spot against the door when he tried to stagger sideways. He was grateful to see a familiar face, though they would not have been his first choice of person to run into after accidentally having his first alcoholic drink.

“Marco, my boy, are you alright? Gave you a good scare there, didn’t I?” King River was at least a head shorter than Marco, so the man’s center of gravity had been less affected by their encounter.

He gave a firm _pat-pat_ on the teen’s back, which was received with a halfhearted chuckle.

Conscious of the smell of swamp water on his tongue, Marco pointed his head away from the man when answering  “Ugh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, River. I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?”

A bemused expression played on the man’s face, and he thumped his own chest proudly. “Never better! It’ll take a lot more than a scrawny human boy to scratch the surface of this ol’ bear! ...No offense.”

“None taken.” Marco smirked, moving around the King to enter the Banquet Hall, pulled in by the uninviting music that poured into the empty hall.

“Hold on, hold on,” River said.

Marco audibly yelped as he was yanked back into the hallway, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Lips pressed together, a thin line formed along the teens lips as he tried to avoid the stare of the kind, though intense, man who had just derailed him further from an already plenty-derailed evening. River was nodding seriously, a hand running through his beard as he sized up Marco like he had never seen him before.

“I think I could use your help, actually. What do you say, why don’t you take a walk with your King?”

Marco was hesitant for at least a handful of reasons. While he respected Star’s father greatly, and they were quite close, Marco had his fill of detours for one night. And technically, he wasn’t really a Mewnian citizen, so River wasn’t _really_ his King. Not to mention he really was hungry, and while he had only taken a big swig of the swamp water, he had enough cultural knowledge to know drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.

“Actually, I - ” Marco began, but he stopped when he tried to meet River’s gaze.

There was a glimmer in the man’s eye, a peculiar sort of look that Marco _knew_. It was special, kindred, spirited… a shine that lived on through the man’s daughter. Severe and adventurous, it was a look rife with mischief - one that Marco had argued with a dozen times; he had tried to persuade those eyes before, to reason with the unreasonable, to think of consequences and rational decisions.

Tonight, the glint happened to take a more curious form, but he knew his will would falter. Might as well resign to it now.

Marco nodded at River. “Sure, let’s do it.”

“That’a’boy. Now come, I don’t want Moonpie to know I’ve gone. Let’s be quick about this business.”

They exited the Main Hall at the Northern Gatehouse, moving towards a part of the castle that Marco was relatively familiar with. Even after having lived here for months at a time, it wasn’t unusual to stumble upon an apartment or concourse that he had never noticed before.

The halls they took into the northern part of the castle were mostly dark until they made their way to one of the exterior passages that took the form of a long and elegant hallway.

The King was in an especially excitable mood tonight, for which Marco was grateful, as it saved him the burden of contributing much to the conversation. All he had to do was nod at the right moments, and “mmm,” occasionally.

They passed portraits to their right, detailing important figures in Mewni’s history, and spectacular windows to their left. These monuments to masonry were larger and more intricate than any Marco had ever seen on Earth, though there was something in the curvature and underlying magnificence that reminded him of the arched windows that decorated old churches.

But unlike those windows on Earth, these were not simple pieces of decorum, stained by color and religious imagery. These structures were flawlessly clear. If not for the castle’s warmth, Marco would have thought each wall opened directly to the courtyards below for how brilliantly they shined.

The walk was breathtaking. Enamored with the clandestine piano keys that lined their path, Marco all but tuned out the King’s conversation, instead focused on the fearsome shadows etched by moonlight that contrasted the prisms of milky light, laid out like a melody across the stone tiles. He had never seen Butterfly Castle like this before, all the hustle-and-bustle requisitioned to a single room, and he silently hoped to share this mystifying song with another Butterfly someday.

They slowed their walk upon approaching a stairwell - he recognized this place, but he couldn’t tell where exactly they were. The inversion of light and sound in the castle made everything unrecognizable as it was in the day, sublime and surreal in the best kind of way.

“...interesting girl, that cutpurse friend of your’s. Apparently, you can get a good price for a kidney on the black market if you get in touch with the right people. She said it only took the modest price of one Earth phone for a grown man’s kidney. The knowledge of that girl! I do wonder how she knows such... Ah, here we are, this way.”

Biting his tongue, Marco was regretting his decision not to pay better attention after all. What else had Janna managed to corrupt in the course of one evening? What was the likelihood that the phone she pawned was _his_ cell phone? Why does she _even need a man’s kidney?_

“I’m sure you’ve been in the Astral Tower before, we’re nearly there.” The King pushed open a door and started forward immediately, leaving Marco to catch it before it slammed closed.

“Astral Tower?” Marco repeated, walking through the door. He was glad for his honed fighter reflexes, because the moment he passed the threshold he felt his foot hover dangerously close to a ledge. The King had led them into an absolutely massive, cylindrical tower that was nothing but a winding set of stairs around a marvel of stone, smooth walls erected in the shape of a turret.

Marco swallowed at the lump in his throat, aware that he could have very easily just fallen to his death. He wouldn’t blame Star if her first reaction to that news was to laugh.

_Here lies Marco Diaz, Beloved Son, Friend, and Squire. He died doing what he loved - avoiding things._

Marco did his best to keep up with the King’s strides, craning his neck as they descended the stairs, finally remembering this place… though it had a very different, much less pleasant sobriety to it at night.

“I guess I have been here. I didn’t know that’s what this is called.”

He had taken this stairwell a handful of times. It was a large, mostly hollow monolith that was near to Star’s room, and it contained a single set of stairs that descended deep under the castle. Towering windows lined the sides of the mausoleum, shaped like upside-down spades that invited cold air and crisp moonlight into the silent atmosphere, creating bizarre shadows across each step below the kingdom.

Marco put his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, a bit miffed that he had only just returned to a reasonable body temperature not ten minutes ago.

“Why is it called the Astral Tower?” Marco wondered aloud.

The King did not answer at first, looking skyward.

“That question has many answers, but the most likely story is simply that it leads to the tallest chamber in the castle. You can see Mewni for miles in every direction. It is excellent for studying the stars.”

Marco thought about that for a moment, his curiosity piqued. “ _Most_ likely?”

“Yes, well,” the King cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Yes, um. That is to say, well, legend is… maybe Star should be the one to tell you, actually. Not my place, you see, not being Butterfly by blood and all…”

“Oh,” was all the response Marco could say to that. He took the King at his word that some stories are best left alone, lest he be forced to relive his first Stump Day. Marco shuddered at the memory.  
After a few more minutes of walking in silence, the King breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the bottom landing.

“Here we are, ah yes.” He pointed at a simple, unassuming wooden door at the bottom landing.

“Wait, the _laundry_ room? _”_ Marco asked incredulously. He blinked a few times, looking between the King and the door to make sure he hadn’t missed something.

“I figured there was like... a secret passageway we were taking somewhere or something. You made this sound really important and mysterious earlier.”

“Oh, but Marco, this _is_ important. Hurry up now, let’s not waste anymore time.” The King strode forward and wretched open the entrance, barreling into the room with characteristic fervor.

Marco tried not to sigh too loudly as he followed him in.

The pleasant smell of fresh linens and subterranean water immediately filled his lungs, comforting compared to the crisp dry air that penetrated the walls of the tower above.

“This is a… weird place to take a break mid-party,” Marco commented as he closed the door behind them. There were no exterior windows here, so the light that illuminated the laundry room was muted and artificial.

River moved towards a few baskets of linens and immediately began tearing into the meticulously arranged pile. Aghast, Marco ran after him and tried to stop the destruction of such perfectly organized materials.

“River, wait! What are you looking for? Let me, or maybe we should just go find Sir Lavabo and ask hi- .”

“Hello, my liege.” A distinctivly Spanish voice interrupted the chaos momentarily, and Marco reflexively jumped into fighting position.

The Knight of the Wash knelt at their feet, and Marco lowered his hands. “S-sir Lavabo! How did you…?”

“I sensed the need for my expertise among the textiles. Now please, how can I be of service?” He addressed his question to River, who dropped the shirts and socks he had just grabbed abruptly.

The King approached the knight with an oddly serious look on his face, and with a hushed tone he leaned forward towards Lavabo.

“Were you followed?”

“No, my King,” he responded sharply. “I have come alone.”

“... Very well. The Queen’s Golden Calico?”

Lavabo looked up, met the King’s stare, and nodded in the direction of an unmarked door to their left.

Marco, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold before him, quietly wondering if he had actually fallen off the castle balcony earlier. This seemed more like an abstraction of a comatose dream filled with oddities and mysteries and unanswered questions.

“And the most recent deposits?” River asked as he made towards the door Lavabo had indicated, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“It would be here, my liege.” Lavabo stood to his full height, moving towards one of the unsorted pile of clothes at the bottom of a labyrinth of chutes.

With a long pause, the King nodded and turned to Marco.

“If you would, Marco, help Lavabo find the Blue Calico. It is my wife’s, and it is very precious to her,” he said, giving the teen a firm nod.

Marco was naturally wary, but he had come this far. “Uh, sure… I guess, but, River, shouldn’t - ”

He was cut off when the King leapt through the doorway, calling over his shoulder as he went. “Then for the rest of this evening, I reinstate thee as temporary squire of The Knight of the Wash!”

With a final twirl of his kingly cape, River looked at the stunned teenager and the painfully proud knight before snapping the door closed.

Sir Lavabo turned his head towards the heavens, closed his eyes and whispered. “Godspeed, my King.”

Marco stood in the middle of the room for a moment, utterly bewildered as he watched the knight dive headfirst into a pile of clothes.

“...Oooookay. Sir Lavabo, what the heck is going on?” Marco moved next to the jostling mountain of fabric, lifting up a random blanket from the pile. He cringed backwards when it revealed a pair of eyes looking back at him.

“Ugh, Sir Lavabo, that’s creepy.” Marco said, dropping the blanket unceremoniously at his feet.

Mostly to himself at this point, the teenager joined in the search. He inspected a sock before flinging it over his shoulder.

“What is this about, with the Queen’s, um, handkerchief?” Saying ‘calico’ sounded weird and old-timey. “Why are we looking for it? And where did you just send River off to?”

The Knight of the Wash stood up within the clothes abruptly, causing Marco to jump a second time.

“Marco Diaz... I cannot confide the secrets of this kingdom, even to you, my most accomplished squire. Please, understand that I have a royal duty to uphold. Search for a white handkerchief with blue and gold embroidery, and reserve your questions for your King.”

The curt statement took him off guard, so Marco backtracked.“O-oh. Sorry. I guess I should have asked River for a better explanation, not you.” Marco looked away, a little ashamed that he had been demanding. It wasn’t Lavabo’s fault he had been dragged halfway across the kingdom with no explanation. Really, it wasn’t even River’s fault - Marco had willingly agreed to come.

“Do not worry. Only one of the King’s most trusted confidants could be asked to join him on this quest. I am grateful for the assistance.” He gave Marco a kind nod before disappearing beneath an ocean of cotton. The appreciative smile on the teen’s face went unnoticed, followed by a comfortable silence as the two embarked on their quest.

After a few minutes of sorting and and shaking out blankets to no avail, Marco’s stomach growled loudly.

The Knight of the Wash turned in his direction with a brow raised, and Marco chuckled awkwardly.

“Marco Diaz, do you require sustenance? I need my squire at his best for this expedition,” he said, rubbing his mustache dubiously.

“Um, I…” Marco was half-tempted to accept, but he didn’t want to slow down things any further. The party would be over before he even gets there at this rate.

“No,” he replied, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll be okay. I had some, uh, food at the party. The _sav-qual_? Thanks, though.”

Much to his surprise, a minaret of robes began to shake, and a moment later it exploded outwards with a hurricane of laughter. The Knight of the Wash was in stitches, bent over and grasping his legs for support. Marco wasn't sure if he’s _ever_ heard Sir Lavabo utter so much as chuckle before, so when the man burst forth in hysterics, it was downright alarming.

“W-what?!” Marco demanded.

With a hearty sigh, Lavabo returned to standing and shook his head, moving towards the western wall of the room.

“Oh, my, that certainly explains it! I did not want to be rude, lad, but your… well, let me say, _savqual_ ? They are a delicacy here on Mewni for sure, _for monsters_! Most people would only accept such a punishment as a challenge against their manhood. I thought I detected something curious on your breath, but at risk of being rude, I did not mention it,” Sir Lavabo said with a giggle.

 _“_ Oh,” was all the response Marco could manage while the grown man was continually thrown into his laughter. At least The Knight of the Wash found the humor in it, though the confirmation of his swamp-breath was sufficiently demoralizing.

Eager to return to the task at hand, Marco forced a chuckle. “Well, that explains it. It tasted pretty awful.” He didn’t want to linger on him imbibing anything Monster related any further, lest the smell of West Mewnian Swamp Water becomes even more incriminating.

_Yep. This has definitely got to be a comatose dream._

After the man seemed to regain his bearings, Marco watched as the Knight of the Wash returned to his work, almost immediately up to his neck in knickers. With a patient inhale, Marco turned and began to weave around different piles of wools and nylons and cottons, eyes scanning for a hint of blue and gold.

Cupping his hands together, Marco blew a stream of warm air between his fingers. They weren’t as painfully cold as they had been half an hour ago, but any latent warmth from beneath the castle had fled through the open windows of the Astral Tower.

“So… how did you _really_ know the King was coming here? I’m pretty sure if ‘communicating through textiles’ or whatever was on the list of requirements, I never would have been made your squire in the first place.”

Without resurfacing, a voice answered. “Hah! A bright boy indeed. I was present at the party when… _things_ happened.”

Marco immediately thought of Star and stopped dead in his tracks. “What _things_? Did something go wrong?” Why hadn’t River mentioned anything earlier? All he had told him was that story about Janna, but was Star okay?

Before Marco could send himself into cardiac arrest, Sir Lavabo spoke again. This time, his head popped through the top of a pile and he had a bonnet snug against his head like a second helmet.

“Oh, no, it was nothing like that. The item the King seeks is a treasure to the Kingdom. There are only two in existence. I cleaned the Golden Calico two days ago, and it is in the next room over, and the Blue one is here somewhere. I watched some… _mistakes_ be made in the hall from my post, and when I saw the King move towards the doors… I assumed the rest.” His voice trailed off, surprisingly stern. It rang of the same mysterious scolding Sir Lavabo had given him earlier when asking of the calico’s nature.

Marco’s lips tightened into a doubtful line, but if nothing had happened to Star, he could reserve his curiosity for now. He squared his shoulders and resumed his squirely task.

The pair searched for another fifteen minutes, and Marco had to admire the man’s deep, if not strange, passion for his work. At one point, Marco had stumbled upon a gown he recognized to be Star’s, and it was collected largely with other gowns (although there were some ties and ascots mixed in). Thinking of Bynar and the chill that had slowly reclaimed their hold on his fingers, Marco then made the mistake of asking about the differences between the nature of “royal” wears versus commoner clothing, and Sir Lavabo took it upon himself to provide thorough explanation of every kind of fabric imaginable.

From silks and organza of nobles, to chainmail and leather of knights, and the wools and acrylics of the peasant class, The Knight of the Wash seemed to know everything there was to know about maintaining, repairing, cleaning, and tailoring every type of clothing. The litany of knowledge was only as impressive as it was mind-numbingly boring, and Marco thanked his lucky stars that he had not remained a squire here for long.

While the knight was nothing kind to Marco and he respected the difficult duty Sir Lavabo had been tasked with, it took a certain kind of person to be _passionate_ about laundry.

Marco, as a knight-in-training, was definitely not passionate about laundry.

 _Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work, I guess_.

Trying to ignore the aching in his stomach, Marco noticed a glint of color that caught his eye to the left of the tailoring station, squinting, it echoed of fine silvery skies and lustrous jewels.

“S-Sir Lavabo! I think I found it,” he said, scrambling on his hands and knees towards the sewing table and recovering a crisp white handkerchief, with blue lattice lace on the inner border and lined by golden stitches. It was inexplicably lovely, bearing the typical blue-gold colors of the Butterfly family, but intensified. With resplendence appropriate for something belonging to Queen Moon, it almost sparkled under the lights, and it was much softer than it appeared. Marco delicately held it by one corner, afraid he might soil something so elegant.

The Knight of the Wash burst through a tower of ties and tassels nearby, springing lithely to Marco’s side next to the workbench.

He scooped the napkin up by one hemmed corner and examined it with a critical eye, moving it around under different concentrations of light.

“You _have_ found it - well done, Marco Diaz! A fine squire you would have made, indeed.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Marco tried to brush off the compliment.

“It’s not a problem. Glad I could help. So... what’s wrong with it? It doesn’t _look_ dirty. Or, er, if you can’t tell me, that’s okay. I could ask River.”

The man answered by taking a seat at the station and securing the flawless piece of fabric with four tiny magnets. Moving a few things around, Sir Lavabo pulled a massive magnifying glass that had been rigged to the light above the table towards him, lowering it so that it hung inches away from the silky ashen surface. It sort of reminded Marco of the lights dentists would use on Earth during an examination.

Leaning forward, Marco squinted through the looking-glass like it was one of those illusion books, moving his head closer and further away in an attempt to reveal some hidden mystery.

It looked perfect from every conceivable angle.

“I normally would decline, but you _are_ my squire tonight, and this sort of magical dye does not pass through these chutes everyday...”

His sentence trailed off, replaced by the sound of quiet tinkering as he adjusted some dials that were attached to the magnifying contraption. There was a small crackle and the room went entirely dark, all of the bewitched torches snuffed out immediately.

Before Marco even had a chance to let the fear arrive, he shielded his eyes from an oppressive blue light that illuminated the darkness strikingly. It was a bit like trying to watch television in the dark, only this light was much more intense.

Once his vision refocused, Marco realized the source of the light had been radiating from beneath the glass, magnified in its intensity through the refractions of luminescence. Chancing a glance within, the magic and mystery of this whole affair suddenly felt very real.

“ _Whoa_ . What _is_ that?” Marco pointed at the phantom fabric, ignited like a bioluminescent under what he presumed must be black light. But unlike crime shows, this was not white and splotchy. It was a dazzling, if not hypnotic; shade of blue that seemed to oscillate mystically of its own accord. In the delicacy of the waving sea across the surface, weaving tones of cobalt and sapphire, the cloth looked almost alive.

Glancing towards the teen, Lavabo gave him a knowing smirk and flipped back on the normal lights, all of boring reality suddenly jerking back to the forefront. The illumination vanished more readily than a puff of smoke.

Oddly serious, the Knight of the Wash stood and offered Marco his seat. “You are a smart young man, Marco Diaz. What do _you_ think it is?”

Marco had not expected that, and he continued to stare at the cloth as he wracked his brain for any plausible explanation.

“Well,” he began as he sat at the station, drumming a few fingers across his cheek.. “If it is Queen Moon’s, then it’s obviously magical. And there’s two… _only_ two, you said?”

Sir Lavabo was standing beside him, a notched and curious brow affixed to his expression. He  nodded.

“There’s two, then. They’re magical. They belong to the Queen. River didn’t want her to know he was gone… so, I’m guessing River must have sent this one down the chute tonight. During or maybe right before the party. So something happened to between now and then that justified it needing to be cleaned?”

There was no response, so he continued.

“So… the question is not _what_ this is exactly, but _why_ River needed to hide it from Star’s mom? And, Star usually only hides things from her if she messed up in a minor way. If it’s something big and dangerous, she’d fess up. I can’t picture the King being the best liar if it was super important, so I’m going to guess he’s acting like Star on this one. Kinda a big deal, but not really. Not like… life-or-death, but maybe enough to make Queen Moon mad.”

_But… what did River do? It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong with it, but it needs to be cleaned. Is there something wrong with the… magic, then? I don’t have a point of reference here..._

Marco was quiet for a moment, trying to piece together a puzzle in which he did not have all the pieces.

If the King managed to sneak the calico away, then whatever had gone wrong could not have been a loud display - something secretive, maybe embarrassing?

“Are you any closer to an answer?” Sir Lavabo asked as he moved beside Marco, bending to look at the delicate fabric once again.

Marco pursed his lips and answered slowly. “I’m… getting there. think so. I think River did something wrong, and doesn’t want the Queen to know. It’s probably something personal, since it’s not something that River wanted to acknowledge publicly, not like the wand. Maybe a gift from another kingdom, or something they’re giving to Star for her birthday - her Day of Designation is clearly a big… deal… and, um… if, Star… well, no, uh...”

Marco’s voice had begun to grow faint, and at that moment he was very glad to be sitting. He hadn’t noticed it at first, thinking it may have been an after-effect of the illusionary dance of the dye under the lights, still burned into his retina, that had made the room start to spin. Everything appeared fuzzier than it had a minute ago, and the subdued chill had traveled from his toes to securing a hold round his windpipe. The pressure was increasing, as was his pulse, and the pounding in his brain had started to feel confused and heated, uncomfortable. Burning?

The Knight of the Wash straightened and looked over at the teen, a strange expression on his face. His eyes were dancing with life, but the frown on his face and furrow in his brow suggested some reservations.

“Are you alright? You seem…” Marco did not catch the word he used, but judging by the knight’s tone, it didn’t sound like it could have been good.

“Mm’fine.”

“....aybe….would...ter? Diff...”

He blinked, wondering why Lavabo was talking as if through a old radio, crackley and far away.

_Diff… diff... different…?_

The sound of coughing roused him from his forgotten nightmare, and Marco was surprised to find it was him who made the sound. There was a hot prickling in his throat, like he had swallowed barbed wires that had been basking in the sun all day, and even more surprising, he found there was a wetness around his eyes.

“B-breathe, lad. Slow and steady, now. In… and out.” A voice was coaching him nearby, but Spots. There were many, iridescent spots, and Marco couldn’t identify the speaker. Either way, the voice was not hateful, so he allowed himself to be guided by their advice.

He was moved to a chair, although that confused him, because hadn’t he just been sitting? And a glass of water was pushed into his face. Marco accepted and drank it slowly, marveling at how something so simple and pure could exist in spite of the chaos of the worlds and dimensions he’s lived through and seen.

Color started to take shape again, and after another thirty seconds of breathing, Marco found the Knight of the Wash very close to him, examining every trace of his face.

“Uh, thanks for the water?” His voice cracked and he moved to set the glass down besides the Blue Calico, but he was no longer seated next to the tailoring station. This was a different desk, deep mahogany with intricate curves, and the seat was more comfortable than the one he previously occupied.

With a tight voice, Sir Lavabo drew back slightly. “Are you alright? You... may have fainted.”

Marco realized his eyes were still streaming, so wiped the back of his hand along his cheeks to dry them.

“No, I’m fine. S-sorry about that. I think I… was dehydrated. I’m fine, though.”

The knight looked dubious, eyes flickering to the glass of water again.

“Tonight, you have served your kingdom well. Our quest is complete, so drink. Did you eat anything besides the savqual earlier?”

Earlier? To Marco, it felt like it had been a week since he spit out the horrible appetizer at the party.

His brain still felt foggy, so his response came slower than normal.

“Um, no. I spit it out. It was… bad.”

After a pause, Sir Lavabo cleared his throat and gently placed a hand on each of Marco’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you sit here for a moment and rest? I’ll return swiftly.”

Marco nodded and watched the knight go, moving across the length of the room and through an open archway, unhindered by any sort of door.

A new sort of quiet - uneasy, and all too familiar - settled in the room. It was the sort of shifting silence one felt when they were surrounded by others, but still felt alone. Quiet, and absent, but tangibly there and held together only by the laws of physics.

Marco rested his head on his arms, slouching across the spotless wooden desk. It was settled against the eastern wall, opposite the room of the tailoring table, and the air felt even colder. After a moment, he realized the room had not grown cooler, but that his face was covered in a film of cold sweat, causing the air to stick to him and for his shirt underneath the suit jacket to hug his lungs as they rose and fell repeatedly.

Marco moved his attention to the corporeal, at risk of receding into his panic if he did not get a grip.The desk he had decidedly sprawled out upon was a modest ensemble of dark wood with simple detailing along the legs. The chair matched, obviously a set, and the flat face of the desk was wide and perfectly clean - ideal for folding fresh laundry, Marco presumed. There were only two possessions on display: a small sign engraved with a quote and a piece of pink folded stationery.

The sign read, in masterfully crafted calligraphy, _“Through muddled scent and stained shirt piles, the dirt of yesterday shall not be the enemy of tomorrow.”_

Well, you couldn’t say the knight did not take his job seriously.

Unwittingly, Marco’s hands had moved to pick up the rose-colored card on Lavabo’s desk, not really considering the issue of privacy; to him, it looked like one of those office birthday cards that everyone signs disingenuously.

He nearly dropped the paper when he recognized the girlish scrawl.

 

_Dear Sir Lavabo,_

_Thank you for accepting Marco as your squire for a day. I know I sorta just dropped in unannounced, and I didn’t even ask if you needed or wanted a squire, so I really appreciate how willing you were to work with him. I… also didn’t realize how crazy dangerous your duty was to the Kingdom, so I wanted to thank you for your service, too._

_Incidentally, I also wanted to apologize about those two things as well. When I broke down the door and you thought I was going to kill you, I didn’t realize how much of a jerk I was being. Pony was right - you were just trying to do your job, and I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserve. I know you said not to worry about it, but I still feel bad. Please accept this plaque my way of saying sorry._

_I also want to say sorry about Marco - he’s the only squire to survive the quest of the Knight of the Wash and I’m already taking him away from you! He’s my best friend, and while I know he would be a great squire to you, I really need him by my side. I hope you understand._

_Sincerely,_

_Star Butterfly_

Marco stared at the card, re-reading the sloppy handwriting and the cute way all the i’s were dotted with tiny hearts. There was also a small yellow butterfly drawn next to Star’s signature.

“The Princess is very kind,” said a steady voice behind his shoulder.

Marco fumbled with the letter in his hands, nearly dropping it in his scramble to return it back on the desk. He cleared his throat and tried not to look conspicuous… which, incidentally, made him appear even more conspicuous.

“Y-yes, she is. I didn’t, er, wasn’t um... “ he was trying to think of an excuse, feeling a bead of sweat appear at his brow. Instead, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and looked away; lying blatantly would just serve to make him look even worse.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Cheeks burning, Marco intently studied the plate that had been sat in front of him on the desk. On it there was an entire loaf of bread, a bag of frozen Mewnian corn, and what Marco could only hope was lunch meat.

“Oh no, I am very honored to have such a letter. It is one of my most treasured possessions, to have a gift from Princess Butterfly. It would be unjust to hide away something so priceless.”

The teen blinked repeatedly, looking stupidly in the knight’s direction as if the man had insulted him. He hadn’t, but there was a distinctive sting that settled somewhere in his navel.

He knew that feeling, though the onset this evening was strange and abrupt.

Guilt.

Marco loved each and every note, letter, and picture he and Star had shared over the years… but he had never appreciated them quite like Lavabo cherished his own modest little card. This man valued something Star had given him (and by the looks of it, years ago,) so much that he kept it out for everyone and anyone to see. He was proud of it. Marco, on the other hand? The things he and Star had shared like this were in a box he stored in under his bed.

He may have kept them all, but something about the situation now felt very wrong. Like those momentos to her gratitude, affection, and admiration deserved the top shelf of every surface Marco owned. That her kindness and strength should never have been taken for granted, even if it was in the form of small, private messages.

Internally, he added to his mental checklist to rearrange some things in his room when he got the chance.

Marco offered the knight a small smile and didn’t really know what to say. “I… um, yeah. Star is amazing.”

The man grinned in return and pushed the plate closer to him. “A whole Kingdom would agree with you, or rue the day they denied it. Now, eat. The corn is for your head.”

That made Marco react, reflexively touching the area just to the left of his premature bald spot, tendering lingering over the swelling. At least his headache now seemed justified.

With a small sigh, he he built himself a sandwich with shaking fingers and prayed to Mackie Hand the meat and bread were in no remote way related to any sort of monster cuisine. To the teen’s great relief, the meat was sort of like tougher chicken and did not taste remotely like swamp water or his own bile. It wasn’t great, but he had grown ravenous after not eating almost the entire day, so the plain sandwich was a welcome treat.

“I am glad you are alright,” the knight said after Marco finished his first sandwich, already working on crafting a second.

“Mmm…” Marco acknowledged. He wasn’t sure if that was really true. In truth, he felt like he was still reeling from the shadows and shapes behind the veil of his mind.

In what was likely a good choice, he elected for silence instead.

With a notch in his brow, the Knight of the Wash stood up and went over to the tailoring table. He retrieved the Blue Calico and held it carefully for Marco to take.

“We never got to finish our conversation, my squire. This... is silk, enchanted with a charm to take the form most suitable to the wielder, much like the wand weld by the Princess. Magic thrives within the fabric, yes, but it is not powerful. It is but a simple cloth; it adapts to a singular use and when stained, it takes that form until cleaned. Tonight, the Blue Calico is a napkin. Tomorrow, it could be a cape, and the next, a pair of gloves. The fluidity within extends only so long as it is clean.”

Justifiably, Marco was surprised - he expected there to be more riddles and games involved in this. The answer was… surprisingly simple.

“So it just changes to whatever the Queen needs it to be?” He tried to sound interested, but his disappointment shone through.

“Yes,” said the knight with a grave nod. “It is more than it appears, but less than it could ever be. The possibilities are as limitless as the sky is blue or the grass is green, but it is confined to the molds within which it is needed.”

Marco felt like he had a question percolating somewhere in his throat, but he swallowed it along with the lump forming there. The lining of his windpipe was still scratchy and hot, so he capped off the remainder of his water and placed the glass down with a contented sigh.

“It has been almost half an hour. I must check on the King. Will you… be alright?” Sir Lavabo stood up, but cast a worrying eye over his on-again off-again squire. Marco tried to speak but coughed again, before punching down his dehydration.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. Go check on The King. Please.”

The knight stood poised for a moment, something flickering in his eyes that Marco could not quite identify, but he ultimately man turned and briskly strode across the room.

He stopped just shy of the door, calling over his shoulder. “If you need anything, help yourself.”

Marco was truly grateful of the knight’s kindness - he normally would have been embarrassed about collapsing like that, but Sir Lavabo’s attitude lacked any sort of negative judgement.

“Thanks.”

With a clink, the door opened, and closed again.

 

Marco stood up upon completing his second sandwich, hands still a little shaky but, overall, feeling significantly better. He slowly moved around the room, eyes ultimately befalling one of Star’s gowns. Red and pink, emblazoned with small white hearts and lace, Marco audibly gasped.

It was the dress she wore to the Blood Moon Ball, or its mirror image.

But why was it down in the laundry? Had she worn it lately?

Nearing the pile, Marco sat cross-legged and held the bodice of the gown delicately. After more than his share of times in a dress at St. O’s, he knew these dressed to be a craft in themselves. Strings and holders in certain places, different ways to mold the fabric to the body so it did not stretch to tear, Marco held it with fragility. The dress was felt like molten platinum in his fingers, running smoother than liquid and warm as a summer’s breeze. Even only by proximity, Marco’s nose picked up the presence of strawberries and sugar.

It smelled like Star.

He paused for a moment, and hoped beyond hopes he didn’t seem creepy when he took a large inhale. Tingling with the general lightness of Mewnian air, the garment reminded him of cookies and oatmeal, sweet and warm and familiar.

_Star…_

Marco held the gown in his hands with a small twinge of desperation, like the sand of the universe might fall from his fingertips if he let it go.

If he let _her_ go.

How could he have let himself get like this? Star was the buzz that gave bees life, the pumping in his veins of adrenaline, and the melody of the city at night. Marco was stupidly and totally in love with her, and he couldn’t live without her.

A pang was set off, like a harmonium losing its tune, and Marco stood up. He stared into the pile for what felt like a long time, the metaphysical guides of gravity and consciousness throwing him off course for a brief break from reality

That… _that_ was it. The problem. _His_ problem.

He had finally managed to put a pulse on it, and now, it was speeding like a runaway freight train.

It was terrifying to think someone like him could, just by existing, demand the attention of the Princess of Mewni, but it was made all the harder when her kingdom was repeatedly put on the line. Magic and the crown, the wand and the life she was born for, or to give it up for his safety. Twice now, after only four years, she had been forced to make that decision, and both times she chose him.

A question from earlier - or had it been a statement? Marco couldn’t remember - resurfaced into the quiet air.

_If Star Butterfly love Karate Boy as much as said, enough to risk her wand and crown, then what is Karate Boy willing to risk for Star Butterfly?_

Buff Frog had been right.

Well, mostly.

Of course Marco was willing to risk everything for Star. He could even accept that Star would risk everything for him. But there was more to the problem then that - it wasn’t just a matter of what he was willing to risk.

There was also a matter of what he was willing to accept.

Star didn’t _need_ him.

Marco was _only_ a human. That turn of phrase had been marked against his name since the day he had met Star. He was only a human. He was just, almost, nearly, but never did his title suffice to situate him in the greater hierarchy of his life.

By basic physiology, he and Star could never be equals. She was built of stronger stuff, royal, Mewnian stuff, and her battles were much more abstract now compared to when they first met. Monster battles became political ones, and allies changed from friends to figureheads. Soon, Star would be Queen, with a literal Kingdom at her whim. There will be strong knights to protect her and diplomats to guide her, not that she needed it anyway. She was born to rule this Kingdom, magic and might all wrapped up in a whip of blonde hair.

Star had never really needed him, but before, that had at least been okay. They worked together to overcome their battles. Partners. ‘Mess-up twins,’ she called them. He could hold his own against Ludo’s gang, but even if he mastered Tang Soo Do, (which he hadn’t,) that still wouldn’t get him very far against monsters like Mina or Meteroa. What good had he been against Toffee or Eclipsa?

It was luck, at best, that the consequences of both had only been minor. Marco looked at his blackened fingers for a moment, a flash of a memory from Eclipsa’s rise, but tried to shake off the feeling. His own arms no longer resembled the Queen’s, burned by the dark magic of a dark queen that had temporarily stained his skin, but sometimes the phantom of time crept back as a rude reminder.

He needed Star, but she didn’t need him.

Star… Star was _everything_.

Marco felt a shudder run race up the length of his spine, and in a nearby river of red fabric, he extracted a supple blanket of crimson. The vermilion waves felt snug around his shoulders, warm against the stale air beneath the castle, though he felt a little guilty to be sitting here wrapped up in it after sweating into his suit… but it was in the dirty pile, so it was going to be cleaned soon?

That sort of worried him now that he thought about it… _why_ was it dirty?

Biting his lip, Marco stood up but did not release his scarlet sanctuary, eyes lingering on Star’s gown desperately.

He couldn’t go on like this. Marco’s rudimentary knowledge of Psychology was still plenty enough to tell him this sort of behavior and thinking wasn’t healthy.

He would talk to Star about it. All of it. Tonight.

Making a silent vow, Marco stumbled over and wrapped himself further in the velvety covering when a huge voice burst into the silence.

“Ah _hHAh_!” A call of victory came to hisleft, and a second later the King himself threw open the door and marched out, a twin of the handkerchief clasped in his fingers.

“Very good, my liege.” The Knight of the Wash was panting, walking out after him with scrapes and bruises on his face. River had made a mockery of his royal wears, which set him out amongst the room of linens like a sore thumb.

Marco looked at them with a frown and arched brow, untangling himself with mild success as he stood up properly.

The grin slid off King River’s face, and at first Marco began to fidget, thinking Sir Lavabo might have told River about his fainting spell. Really, the last thing he needed right now was to be teased further by his girlfriend’s father.

“What... happened in there? Are you okay? Wh-why are you… looking at me like that?” Marco’s voice was a waterfall, plummeting from a precipice of confusion. It tumbled into a downright flow of concern.

“M-Marco Diaz! What have you done!” Sir Lavabo scrambled forward, practically throwing himself at Marco and flinging him back into a tower of unsorted socks.

“W-what are you _talking_ about _?”_ Marco had nothing to leverage himself with, arms still tucked within the makeshift cape.

At least, he thought it was makeshift.

“Th-that is the King’s Cape, boy!” The man whispered, trying to block him from River’s sight by standing over him. Tugging, the Knight of the Wash jerked Marco around with impressive force, trying to extract him from the softness of his comfort.

“Oh, well - stop! I can do it! I didn’t know, why does it matter?” Marco finally had his hands free and lifted the bottom up above his head like he was removing a very long shirt. It caught on the collar of his shirt, however, and settled over his shoulders like a cloak.

The Knight of the Wash looked aghast. “ _Itisacrimepunishablebydeath! YouareformallyimpersonatingtheKing!”_

Marco’s eyes went wide in realization, only to see thick fingers rest of Sir Lavabo’s shoulder. A half-second later, a puff of blonde mustache and tattered blue robes appeared at the man’s side, looking at Marco with scary intensity.

He hadn’t seen the King like this since Ludo _levitato-tato’d_ him, and that was almost three years ago.

Immediately, he began to wrestle with the crimson snake that had settled across his torso, regretting every decision he’s ever made.

The King put up a hand, a single brow shooting high across the man’s face. Marco and the Knight of the Wash both froze in their attempts.

“You know, Marco…” The King took another step towards him, sizing Marco up for a second time that evening. This time, he certainly looked like he knew who Marco was, and was instead debating which form of death would be most fitting.

It surprised them both when he smiled and flapped the corner of the cape, creating a billowing effect around Marco’s ankles.

“Red really _is_ your color.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everybody - guess it's not a one-shot after all. can I just say this chapter was the HARDEST thing I've ever written. we don't know the Knight of the Wash extremely well, so his character was a real challenge to get down. guess I'm going to keep writing more of this. let me know if you have feedback!
> 
> p.s.s: I have a tumblr now! please feel free to check it out. (it's new, so please be kind as I get the whole biz figured out!)  
> https://real-fakedoors.tumblr.com/


	3. Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco finally gets back to that dance - remember that?

Rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes, Marco hardly bothered with propriety at this point. He slouched, dragged his feet, and spoke little. The young man was tired, and it was only 10 PM; dead on his feet, as they say.

The party, comparatively, was still very much alive. Still going strong, the afterthought of a bass thumped through the quiet hallways, accented by the clapping of dress shoes against stone tiles.

He waved half-heartedly to River as the man entered the double doors, watching them close fully before entering himself.

_ “Best we go in seperately, or else the women might think we’ve been up to something!” _

Lest Marco point out he, the King and Sir Lavabo had most definitely been  _ up to  _ something, he opted to just nod politely and let the King go first. The Knight of the Wash had elected to stay behind and tend to his freshly recovered magical cloth so he might clean it as quickly as possible.

On the way back, Marco had been tempted more than once to ask River what exactly he had done at the party to justify all of this secrecy and for him to have rushed to recover the clean calico, but he wasn’t really in the mood for Butterfly Shenanigans™ any longer.

With gratitude, the tired teen had accepted three of the bizarre chicken-esque sandwiches Lavabo had offered to him in the subterranean concourses of Butterfly Castle, but that hadn’t been much. His head was hurting, he imbibed a larger-than-average swig of strong alcohol, and sent himself into a near panic attack in the course of an hour.

Marco abandoned the facade along with the cape he had inappropriately adorned downstairs, simply too tired to  _ deal  _ with regulations and expectations. If he wasn’t in the King’s good graces, apparently, he very well could have been put to death for his reckless actions. His relationship with Star and the kingdom permitted River to simply laugh off his blunder, but, Sir Lavabo looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Even inadvertently, Star was still saving his life.

_ Star doesn’t need you. But you need her _ .

“Ugh,” he said audibly, dragging a hand down his face before burying both fists into his pants pockets. How much he wished he could be in a comfortable red hoodie right now, cuddling in a fort of pillows in Star’s room and watching some unbelievable  _ novella  _ that his Mom would have hated.

Instead, Marco shook the strangeness of the evening from his limbs and focused his vision forward.

“Now or never, Diaz.”

Marco entered the ballroom for the second time that evening, considerably less sweaty and definitely more drunk than the first time. The alcohol in his body hadn’t really hit him until the panic rose when Sir Lavabo left him alone, and before he had some trouble deciphering what might have been intoxication from fascination, contemplations, or just plain old hunger.

He descended a stairway that was the epitome of grandeur. Steps of golden stones expanded outwards as the room opened before him, giving the room a broadening effect that made it all seem that much more surreal. Marco was reminded of the amphitheatres he had seen on Earth, only inverted to open up into an even greater room.

Everything shined. It was like someone had taken the essence of Star’s butterfly form and smelted it into masonry, forged from the fires of magic that were only as fierce as she was. Long velvet drapes covered many of the windows, hitched up about halfway from the ceiling to offer some natural moonlight as a silvery reprieve from the flaxen intensity that bathed the room. The party was divided into the primary auditorium that opened below him, but at eye-level there was a rectangular balcony that overlooked the dance floor with standing tables.

Marco decided he best go back to the last place he saw anyone - his parents, before he sprinted from the room the first time - nearby to the refreshments table.

There was a large of swath of dancers in the center of the room, and Marco didn’t let his eyes linger for long. Star was easy enough to spot, her hair tied into an elegant bun with curls framing her face. Earlier, when he saw her enter, she had been too beautiful to bare, and he didn’t really want to focus on who might have their hand around her waist right now.

Near to the windows, Marco sleuthed across the perimeter of the room with scanning eyes. At level with the dancers, the room seemed even larger - he could look up to see the marvelous sloping ceilings, painted with murals of the Mewnian skyscape.

He managed to spot his Dad, tall as he was, after a few minutes of searching. Marco’s parents were dancing casually - and embarrassingly - around a gaggle of younger Mewnian royals. The kids were encouraging their irrefutably lame dance-moves, so Marco averted his eyes and looked for another familiar face.

Along the southern wall, Marco had gotten as near to the dais as possible without alerting some interrogation from the guards. (Though he had been a regular in Mewni’s castle walls for years, more than a few of the knights still enjoyed teasing him of his “squire” position, and would give him an overly difficult time.)

He could see Queen Moon seated at the throne, and River slipped into his seat from the otherside of the platform a minute after Marco had reached the edge. The Queen smiled fondly at her husband, and the man relaxed notably as he tucked a flash of gold and blue into a small bag beside her.

The King spotted Marco easily enough and sported a tiny thumbs up, at which Marco sort of smiled lamely and turned away, ready to search for someone else when he nearly screamed. An obnoxious winnie sounded in his ear, and he leapt backwards out of reflex.

“Hey, it’s  _ Earth-tuuuuurd _ . Nice of you to make it, thought you might have been ditchin’ on my girl.” Pony Head gave him an accusatory glare as she essentially ambushed him, blocking his path towards the window.

“Don’t think I’m not looking out for B-Fly. If you even so much as look at one of these girls tonight…” She spoke the phrase with emphasis, leaning a little closer with narrowed eyes.

Marco put up his hands and took a step back. “Whoa, Pony Head, calm down. I was just... getting some air.”

She bared her teeth slightly, horn pointed in his direction, and huffed loudly through her nostrils. Marco hadn’t seen her so worked up in years, so he was genuinely concerned that there was something going on.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his floating unicorn  _ bestie _ starting laughing in his face, pulling back and spinning in the air from her mirth.

“Oh, my god. The look on your face.  _ You  _ the one who needs to calm down. Lookin’ kinda sweaty there, Earth-turd.” She said through her guffawing.

Offering a half-hearted chuckle, Marco tried to move around her and head towards the wall once again. He wasn’t really in the mood for Pony Head’s…  _ personality _ right now.

“Fair enough. Maybe some food will help, if you’ll excuse me…” his evasive maneuver was somewhat successful, but the magical princess just floated after him, easily weaving in and above dancers that pushed into him as he passed. She was yapping into his ear, practically yelling above the music.

“SO, WHAT YOU THINK OF RICH PIGEON'S NEW GIRL? PRETTY OKAY, I GUESS.”   
“Sure,” Marco replied as he stalked towards a window, eager to see something that wasn’t people dancing and having a good time.

“ _ I MEAN, IF I WERE HIM, I’D DEFINITELY WANT TO PRENUP THAT. BUT AT LEAST SHE CUTE THOUGH.” _

“I guess,” he said with a large breath of relief. He faced away from the dancefloor and looked out over a courtyard in the castle. It was the rose garden that Eclipsa used to sit in, and the turrent of her old holding chamber was visible from their perch in the Banquet Hall.

“ **_YOU SURE YOU GOOD EARTH-TURD? SEEM OFF TONIGHT - WHY YOU NOT OUT THERE DANCING?_ ** ”

“Pony Head, please?  _ I have a headache. _ ” Marco hissed at her, resting his forehead against the cool glass that overlooked the world beyond. 

“Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? Sheesh. Not my fault you in a baaaaaaad mood.” Pony Head replied casually, but her voice did sound a tad apologetic. He could at least appreciate that she lowered her voice.

“ _ Marco _ ! There you are!” Another voice called his name, this time coming from his right, so he turned away from Pony Head to see a familiar, less annoying presence.

“Tom! Hey. How are you?” Marco lifted up a hand to fist bump his demonic friend, who looked genuinely happy to see him.

At his side, he noted the floating image of his  _ bestie  _ appeared, blowing a raspberry at the new arrival.

“I’m good man, how are you?” Tom accepted the fist bump with his own knuckles and a smile. “Didn’t see you when the rest of the Earth crowd came in.”

“Oh, yeah. Just got mixed up with the crowds I guess.” Marco scratched his head awkwardly, not sure he wanted to go into details of his strange, private night around Mewni.

Eager for a new topic, he returned his attention to Pony Head. “So have you guys danced much? Being royals and all, I’m sure there’s lots of ‘protocol’ you’ve got to abide by.”

The pair groaned in unison, and Marco felt a tiny bit better to know he wasn’t the only one having a bad time.

_ That’s not cool, Diaz - they’re your friends! _

Before he had chance to further regret his knee jerk reaction, Pony Head properly responded. “Yeah, I’m just glad I ain’t B-Fly. Dancing  _ all night _ with people you  _ don’t know _ sucks. I had to do it a few months ago at my sis’s wedding.”

Tom nodded knowingly, leaning up against the window and looking out at the dancefloor. “Yeah. It’s annoying, but I’m just glad for a break. We can still dance with other people, but if my Mom tells me to dance with someone, I have to. All about appearances, you know?”

Marco followed Tom’s gaze to the center of the room, noting the King take his wife by the hand and leading them into a waltz with a new song.

“You’re telling me…” Marco muttered under his breath, watching the man twirl and Moon be none the wiser about their earlier escapades.

“Oh! That reminds me, Marco, here.” Tom leaned forward suddenly and dug around in his jacket pockets, and Marco and Pony Head turned to watch. After a moment of searching around his suit jacket, the demon retrieved a familiar cell phone with a dinosaur wearing a party hat on the back.

“My phone! Oh, thank you, how’d you find it?” Marco readily grabbed it from Tom’s open palm and cradled the familiar rectangle against his cheek, certain he was never going to see the device again.

A nonchalant shrug followed, but Tom looked pleased by Marco’s reaction. “Eh, you know Janna. I had one of my guys from the Underworld offer to buy it from her. Actually, you should thank Pony Head,” he paused and nodded at the so-named princess, who went wide eyed and looked away.

“She was the one who noticed Janna trying to hock it.”

Marco blinked slowly for a moment, absorbing the statement before finally looking over at Pony Head. She appeared to be a shade or two darker blue in the cheeks, he could have sworn.

“Well, thanks,  _ bestie _ .” Marco nudged her with an elbow, surprised and a little touched that Pony Head intervened like that on his behalf.

“I mean, whatever, you know B-Fly wouldn’t like it if you couldn’t text her, or, whatever…” she replied, blowing some air through her nostrils and looking away. Tom was watching the two with a bemused expression before ultimately finishing his explanation.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed and returned to leaning against the wall. “Janna is a lot to handle. Need a whole team of people to keep her in-line. ” There was a trace of longing in his voice that Marco noted, and reflexively he looked towards Tom at the curios inflection. Again, the young prince was looking at the crowd, and the object of his vision this time was the dark-haired girl in question.

She wasn’t exactly hard to spot, to be fair, given that she was riding on Slime’s shoulders and whooping above the crowd while others were trying to sway elegantly with the music. Marco chortled at the sight of her, and soon all three of them were laughing.

After a long moment of giggles, Tom patted Marco on the back and went towards the crowd. “Alright man, good to see you. I better make sure she doesn’t get herself banned from the property again. Pretty sure Star could only undo that sort of thing with ‘Princess-authority’ once.”

“See ya,” Marco replied with another laugh. Pony Head still floated nearby, and they watched in silence as Tom made his was through the thicket of bodies.

Ahead of them, perhaps twenty feet in, they could see Tom negotiating with Janna to get down, though their voices were lost to the music. She was ignoring Tom at first, winking in the general direction of Marco and Pony Head’s and about to bound off Slime’s shoulders into the crowd. She stopped when Tom lifted himself into the air and scooped her up, feet ablaze, and shot off to the balcony across the room with her.

It was hard to tell across the distance, but Marco was pretty sure he saw Tom create one of his fiery roses, and Janna looked rather red in the face.

“Huh, how things change…” Marco mumbled absently, looking to his side to see Pony Head staring back at him, a knowing look carved into her brow.

“What?” He replied, shifting with minor discomfort at the unexpected scrutiny.

“Alright, Earth-tu - I mean,  _ Marco _ ,” she said, eyes narrowed at him. “What’s really goin’ on with you? You’re not your usual worried-about-literally-everything self, and B-Fly is out there dancing with a bunch of randos. Are you seriously gonna try to tell me nothin’ is up?” She floated a little closer, notching an eyebrow that seemed to dare him to challenge her.

Marco swallowed at the gathering lump at his throat, rubbing his thumb over the glass face of his phone in his pocket. “No no, I mean, it’s not…”

Pony Head lowered her nose and looked at him with heavy skepticism, eyeing the sudden sweat lining his brow.

“Okay, fine,  _ Pointy  _ Head. You got me. I’m not  _ loving _ tonight. I  _ am _ glad Tom got my phone back, though. Thanks again for that.” She rolled her eyes, but smiled at him. Marco took that as an invitation to continue, but he didn’t want his jealousy to be obvious so he tried to focus on something else. He pulled out his phone and started to thumb through it randomly, seeing if Janna had deleted or messed with anything else.

Clenching his teeth a bit, Marco tried not to appear visibly bitter. “This is Star’s big night, not mine. I’m trying to let her do her Princess thing and not get in the way. Okay?”

“Mmm…” Pony Head replied, surprisingly quiet for her. Marco doubted it would last long.

He was, of course, right.

“Yeah, I mean, I get’chu… but you seem like all down and stuff. That ain’t fair to you, and I know B-Fly wouldn’t want you to be all sad in the corner by yourself.” 

Marco laughed a little mirthless chuckle, just short of dumbfounded that  _ Pony Head _ of all people was giving him a pep talk. Oh boy, he really was in a bad place, wasn’t he?

“I know that - Star is too nice to want that for anybody. But it’s not like I can waltz right up to her and drag her away from some other royal just to tell her that I’m a little jealous. That’s not fair to  _ her _ . I can deal for one night.”

While they were talking, Pony Head looked towards the mass of people in the center, scanning for a particular dancer. She was nodding along to Marco but not really providing her full attention, which he noticed, so he stopped talking and started to scroll through old pictures.

He lingered on the one with Buff Frog’s kids, the one he had looked at earlier in the evening on the balcony. Star had a large, goofy smile plastered across her face. The image was as hilarious as it was captivating - it was like someone captured Star’s very essence and managed to implant it directly into the image itself. Strong and bright, confident and confounding, a little less than prepared but somehow totally perfect, it was the embodiment of Star all in one. Her oceanic eyes sparkled against the backdrop of green tadpoles, alive despite their capture in the paradox of time.

Marco could stare at the image forever, stay in that place with her in his memory, but they kept moving ever-forward. He just wanted to slow down, take things one step at a time, hold her hand and kiss her and not worry about the future.

“Aye, Earth-turd? You hear me?”

He shot up from his daydream and looked towards Pony Head, who was suspended slightly higher than normal and looking into the living sea.

“Mmm? What, sorry, did you say something?”

Pony Head shot Marco a dirty look before returning to her studies of the passing faces, hypnotic and strange above the music that seemed better suited for the Bounce Lounge than a castle.

“I don’t see B-Fly anywhere. I thought she was dancing, but…”

Marco’s head snapped upright, and immediately he looked over heads for the delicate blonde tresses he knew so well, the ones that smelled like sugar and strawberries, that were somehow even softer and smoother than they appeared.

He couldn’t find them anywhere.

Before Marco could so much as say goodbye, he was already moving. He had been able to spot her from the stairs, a high vantage point, and his feet dashed the length of the room in a flash of motion.

“Sorry - s’cuse me - sorry! Emergency! Pardon, sorry…” through pants and yells over the music, Marco pushed his way through the room until he was back at the door again, looking out over the length of the room.

She had been wearing a soft purple dress, lilac with white and gold trim that complimented her skin tone. Marco could remember it down to the last stitch, utterly mesmerized with the sight of her when she walked into the room at the beginning of the ceremony. Since then, he tried not to look right at her, else his heart might have burst from a twisted mix of love and desire.

She looked beautiful beautiful in that gown, but now, neither gold nor purple could be found across the room.

“Star?” Marco yelled a little uselessly, knowing his voice would never be able to carry the length of the room.

Despite the emptiness of the grand stairwell, it was like she was there beside him, a faded echo along the nape of his neck. 

_ I don’t need a hero _ , the air seemed to say. It made his hair stand on end.

Marco blinked like a madman, confused and head throbbing worse than ever.

“What am I doing…?” He asked, covering his eyes with one hand, reminding himself of his tendency to worry senselessly.

Star was probably just somewhere along the balcony, or maybe she stepped outside for some air, too. Maybe she even needed to just use the restroom - there was no need for Marco to twist himself into knots over this. Star would be fine without him.

_ Star would be fine without him. _

The phrase repeated like a record caught on its last tune, looping in his head like an unwelcome melody.

A dizziness rising like bile in his throat, Marco staggered over to the bannister along the staircase and led himself back down into the throng of golden faces, masked from his vision of reality by shared commotion and rejoice he did not savour.

His legs led him automatically to a corner around the stairs, the northernmost part of the room that were usually only frequented by handmaids and servants. There was almost a sickness that seemed to rock him as he drew himself along the curving base of the stairs, rising like a wall behind him as he neared the farthest corner and lifting the side of a sailor’s mural.

This was a passageway he had only ever used once, and at the time, he had vowed to never come or go this way again. It was something Eclipsa had shown him.

Once the portrait had been turned a full ninety-degrees, a small tunnel was revealed to a secondary set of stairs. It was lined by magical torches that would take him under the castle, and right now, he just needed a quick escape.

Marco rubbed his forearms carefully, remembering the crackling feeling of dark magic beneath his skin as he descended the stairs and sealed the portrait opening. He descended the stairs without any hurry, eager to waste time so the party might sooner end.

What was  _ wrong  _ with him? He really felt ill.

Carefully, Marco sat on the lowest step that opened to a modest dirty path, perhaps twice his height that stretched as far as he could see. It reminded him of what a bomb shelter must look like, although it wouldn’t do a whole lot of good against magical explosions.

Fingers moving of their own volition, Marco realized he was outlining the crescents that were etched beneath his skin. They were no longer visible - even if he wielded Star’s wand. The magic was all but gone from him body, and rightfully so. Marco wasn’t nor ever should have been magical.

His human body and human mind could not bear the responsibility of such power, and he had learned it the hard way.

“...It’s not always going to be like this, is it?” He whispered, holding his head in his hands. Since he was seated on the stairs, Marco propped his elbows into his knees and buried his face in his hands. elbows propped against his knees. His dress shoes were already dirty from descending into the abandoned cellar, and he couldn’t care less about the condition of his suit anymore.

He felt like he was underwater, a ringing in his ears making his vision swim through a dark lake. “Star is royal and magical and awesome, and you’re just…” he sighed. He didn’t know what word he could use to describe himself there, but a sigh felt sufficient.

After a heavy silence, perhaps ten more seconds of focused breathing, a voice broke the silence as delicately as the wind. “ _ Marco _ ?”

His head flew up, and in a flash Marco was standing, facing the speaker to his right from the shadows of torch light.

“ _ Star? _ ”

Marco had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, but it was her, and she was so lovely it was intoxicating.

She had led down her hair from its intricate bun, letting the golden waves spill across her shoulders and down her back. The dress accented her slim figure with grace, a gradient from lavender to lilac as it trailed around her feet. In her hands, she had bunched the fabric around her hips so it wouldn’t drag on the ground, exposing her bare feet and the tops of her ankles. Her lips were parted slightly, looking just about as shocked as he was, though they radiated with familiar softness that drew him closer out of instinct.

He breathed her name again, casting her in his own shadow by the orange glow. “Star?”

She fluttered her lashes, blue piercing eyes stealing his focus with untenable luminosity. If the calico had shined unnaturally, it had nothing on the purity that shone from within the eyes across from his own.

Her smile came so naturally that he felt the breath leave his body. “Marco! That  _ is  _ you - I wasn’t sure at first, and then I… well, I heard you talking to yourself. I’m sorry!” Her hands flew up defensively, guilt settling across the creases of her forehead. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop - honestly, I didn’t really hear anything ‘cause I was zoning out. And then, you…  _ wait.” _

Her hands fell from their position between them, one positioning itself on her hips and the other holding her chin.

“What are  _ you doing  _ here? Did you follow me?”

“W-what? No! I didn’t even know you knew about this place!” Marco replied indignantly, blushing at her accusatory glance. It wasn’t an unreasonable thing to expect, considering he had about sprinted from the ballroom in search of her earlier, but this was truly a coincidence.

“How  _ do _ you know about this place? Here, let’s sit,” he stepped aside and offered her to sit on the steps he had just occupied. Star made a face, wrinkling her nose, but did not object - a moment later, she was sitting about four steps up and he sat on the second from the bottom, turned to look up at her.

When she smiled at him a second time, there was notable strain there, and Marco shifted slightly to better look at her. “So? How’d  _ you  _ know about this place?”

“I…” she bit her lip, looking guilty. “I actually know for the same reason you know. Eclipsa.”

Star said the name darkly, and Marco flinched.

“I guess I never told you this, huh? Back during all that, when things started not to add up anymore, I used to All-Seeing Eye. I didn’t mean to spy on you. I was just, you know, worried.”

Marco grimaced at the announcement. “I see,” he responded, unsure of what else to say. but he didn’t begrudge her. After all, he was typically the one who was worried, not Star.

“Yeah… but, hey, some party right?” Star’s hand flirted with his shoulder, tapping delicately along his suit fabric.

“Mmm, sure…” Marco replied absently, his own hand moving up to grasp her own. For all the ugly things they had both done, their hands certainly looked perfect together under that basking orange glow.

“You’re… pretty quiet tonight. You okay, Marco? Why are you down here, anyways?” Star scooted along her backside and plopped down a step closer, bending her arm so she did not have to release his fingers from her own.

“Oh… just, needed to clear my head. Same reason as you.” He was pretty sure he had said that four or five times this evening already, and not once had it really ever been true. The longer he looked at their hands together, perched on his shoulder, the more his eyes started to deceive him. The wicking light in the tunnel caused the shadows to stir every-so-often, and Marco was unnerved when the shadows were cast across his skin. It reminded him too much of the blackened feeling of magic coursing through his limbs.

“I never said I came down here to ‘clear my head’.” Star retorted with a dark laugh; it was out-of-character enough to get his attention.

“I guess that’s fair - you didn’t say why you were down here after all, did you? Fess up, Princess.”

She sent him a devastatingly beautiful smirk and nudged him playfully, but the smile faded as quickly as it had come. “I actually don’t know  _ why _ … I just, I dunno. My feet hurt from dancing, and I wanted to take off my shoes. I sort of just gravitated this way and thought of this passage. Not to ‘clear my head,’ but I needed a break.”

“You deserve a break, that’s for sure.” Marco placed a soft kiss along the tips of her fingers, and Star giggled.

“Dancing is stupid when it’s not with you.” Star leaned forward and placed her chin on top of his head, the softness of his brown hair providing a thin pillow as she sighed contently. The sensation sent a tremor from the center of his heart to the tips of his toes.

“S-Star?” Marco called her name softly. His throat was dry, so the sound was strained.

“Mmm?” She replied almost sleepily, nuzzling her cheek against the top of his head.

“We should get back to the party, or else the guard might think you’ve been kidnapped or something. Wouldn’t want to be  _ Defiant _ , now would we?”

Star snorted at his bad joke and sat up again, placing a hand along his jawline and turning him to face her proper.

“Oh Marco, you dork.”

He grinned sheepishly, feeling the electricity of her skin along his cheekbones.

“You look really, really amazing tonight, by the way.” He felt like the words weren’t even worthy to explain how divine she really looked, but Star seemed grateful as she turned a flattering shade of pink.

“Thanks, you. Oh-oh oh check this out.” Star stood up excitedly, her eyes wide with excitement so Marco humored her and stood. She turned around and lifted her hair, practically stunning him with her sudden movements, only to reveal the plunging back of her dress. It went about halfway down her spine, and Marco gasped audibly at each little notch in her delicate vertebrae. They crested her skin  _ just so _ , close enough to touch, but deep enough to wonder, and Marco felt very flustered all of the sudden.

“Look! My wings!” Star nodded her head, causing her hair to dance around her shoulders as she balled the ends up in her fists. Marco swallowed hard and focused on the purple wings per her instructions, and they had notably grown since they first appeared.

Still small and delicate, they rose away from her skin by maybe a foot now. Normally they folded down naturally so they were mostly flush with her pallor skin, but at her command they flutterly uselessly through the still air and buzzed every so faintly in the silence.

Star turned around with a woosh of movement, a wide grin on her face. “Pretty cool, right?”

Marco was blushing furiously and cleared his throat. “Y-y- _ yep! _ Cool. V-very cool.”

She looked at him, puzzled, but eventually took his hand and led him up the stairs back to the ballroom. 


End file.
